Waking from sleep, Inside the veins there are navies setting forth...
Tiny explosions at the water lines, And seagulls weaving in the wind of the salty blood. It is morning. The country has slept the whole winter. Window seats were covered with fur skins, the yard was full Of stiff dogs, and hands that clumsily held heavy books. Now we wake, and rise from bed, and eat... Sign in to see full entry.